


Holmessexual

by Well excuse me (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humour, Mycroft is a Softie, Sherlolly - Freeform, the Holmesian F word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 10:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11576682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/Well%20excuse%20me
Summary: Sherlock has a strong suspicion that Molly is Holmessexual. 66,6% Holmessexual. He thinks she lets Mycroft eat her cherry pit.





	Holmessexual

Sherlock didn't remember why he was so apprehensive about starting a relationship with anyone. It had been almost two months since the love confession over the phone and exactly seven weeks since he and Molly started dating. None of his grim predictions came true. Molly seemed fine despite spending time with him and didn't show any signs of impatience or regret. She didn't mind it when a date had to be postponed because of his work. The transition from being friends to becoming a couple went smooth. That was surprising. They didn't have pointless fights because they knew each other well enough to expect certain behaviour. Sherlock felt ready to stop imagining the worst case scenarios and enjoy the newly discovered joys of having a girlfriend.

There was just one thing. One little detail that didn't let him relax completely. He knew Molly's schedule and habits pretty well. That helped him plan their dates with a satisfying precision. The problem was that he miscalculated three times. Three times during those seven weeks Molly was unavailable. Unreachable, despite the fact that she was not at work, not with any of her friends that Sherlock was aware of or doing basically anything that he could predict. That little break in her routine was puzzling. Sherlock, as inexperienced as he was, had a feeling that investigating that would only lead to a row and possibly a messy break-up. Of course, Molly had a right to do what she wanted and she wasn't obliged to tell him everything, yet still... Something was off. Perhaps she was seeing someone else. For sure, another Moriarty. That meant Sherlock had to intervene, for everyone's safety.

 

When for the fourth time Molly refused his invitation, this time to a bloody crime scene, Sherlock decided to check on her. Discreetly. Hiding behind a car in front of her house was perfectly justified and not creepy. He wasn't a clingy, jealous boyfriend, but a concerned citizen about to capture a criminal. Molly was at home, he could see the lights. Not in the bedroom, thank goodness. The curtains were drawn and all he could see were shadows. Two people, Molly and her guest. Tall, bulky, short hair. Male. Sherlock dialled Molly's number. She did not pick up. While he debated with himself whether bursting into her flat was wise or not, his own phone vibrated. Mycroft. Sherlock ignored it.

After an hour and a half, a black car passed Sherlock and parked in front of the door. Almost immediately, Molly's cunning new 'friend' stepped out of the building. For a moment, Sherlock thought it was all a hallucination or a dream. He recognised the person who was stealing Molly's attention from him. His own brother. To add insult to injury, Mycroft wasn't wearing the mask of the Iceman. He was smiling. It looked genuine. Mycroft was pleased. Happy, even. As one would be after an eventful date. Sherlock didn't move, paralysed by the revolting idea of Molly and Mycroft... together. Before he found the strength to stand up and throw something rotten at his traitorous brother, Mycroft left and Molly finally found time to ring Sherlock. He was too stunned to answer it.

 

On his way back to Baker Street, Sherlock analysed the situation. _Awkward_ and _insane_ were the first words that popped into his head, followed by _stupid, stupid, stupid_. There had been warning signs, he realised. For instance, the day after Sherrinford, he had been dreading the inevitable serious conversation with a rightfully angry Molly and she had dropped by, saying that Mycroft had explained everything. Back then, the relief was so overwhelming that Sherlock hadn't questioned Mycroft's involvement. Another red flag was the contents of Mycroft's rubbish bin. Sherlock had a habit of inspecting it whenever he was at his brother's. Three months prior to the confrontation with Eurus, Sherlock had found cherry pits hidden under a layer of tea bags. Mycroft didn't like cherries. Molly had a cherry cardigan. All the signs were there.

There was one more thing. He had always thought that it was the intense attraction to him that brought Molly and Jim from IT together. Now, however, he had to consider the possibility that Molly shared one particular trait with Jim: being Holmessexual. He knew that Moriarty was playfully flirtatious with all three Holmes siblings and the parents could have been next on the list. What if Molly was the same? Helpless to resist the Holmes charm, eager to shag every member of Sherlock's family? It could be a compulsion, something that she had no control over. Irresistible urge to fuck their extraordinary brains out. 

 

Confused, Sherlock made a decision to seek the wisdom of a dating guru. Who knew, perhaps that was a norm and common knowledge among the humans who didn't resist dating. _If your love interest donated his brain to science before he was done with it, seduce his sibling._

John could not believe it. 'Molly and Mycroft? The Molly and the Mycroft? Damn. Really?'

Sherlock wanted to deny it, but the evidence suggested only one thing. _Yes, really_.

John was all smiles, amused by Molly's way of coping with one socially awkward Holmes: wrapping the other one around her finger.

'Look, you can't expect total faithfulness from her just because she had fancied you for the last seven years. If you two haven't agreed that you're exclusive and neither of you will see other people, you shouldn't be surprised. Although it is a bit odd that she picked Mycroft, of all men. Maybe she is a criminal mastermind and she's working on extracting some useful info from him.'

'John, you are-'

'Ok, fine. If you want her to choose, play it cool. Storming into her flat and being dramatic won't help. Show her you are a better boyfriend than Mycroft. Be attentive, make her feel appreciated and loved. Give her what Mycroft can't.'

Sherlock's initial plan was to use his biggest advantage, his lovely hair, but then a sudden thought struck him. Molly wasn't supposed to know how possessive and desperate he was. But there was another person in their awful triangle, someone he could harass.

 

The following night, when Mycroft returned home, Sherlock was waiting for him. Displeased and armed with a bowl of cherries. In case of the unsatisfying result of the discussion about Molly, he could use them as ammunition. Mycroft rolled his eyes at the sight, unimpressed by Sherlock's weapon of choice and gave a long sigh.

'I know about you and Molly,' Sherlock said accusingly without preamble.

Mycroft slowly unbuttoned his coat, offensively unintrigued by Sherlock's deduction. He couldn't be bothered with making excuses for wasting Molly's time. Only when he hung his coat and put away his weaponised umbrella did he reply.

'It only took you a couple of years,' he remarked, surely intending to exasperate Sherlock as much as possible.

_Years?_

'Oh, God,' Sherlock was nearly hyperventilating. 'It started after my suicide. All this time you and Molly... ' The acute sense of betrayal overpowered Sherlock. 'How long did you plan to keep this from me?'

'Well, indefinitely.' Mycroft dared to smirk. Sherlock was seconds away from rubbing the cherries into his fine suit. 'Listen, Sherlock, you don't need to know everything about Molly Hooper. She doesn't owe you anything.'

Sherlock hated those reasonable comments.

'All right. So you two are a couple. Have been for years. I hope you will be very happy.'

Mycroft laughed. 'Good grief! You silly boy. We're not a couple.'

Sherlock had never been so relieved. Oh, he knew it couldn't be true, obviously. 'So, what have you been doing all this time?'

Mycroft waved his hand. 'You know. Exchanged opinions, shared meals. '

'Has she been saying anything about me?'

Mycroft nodded. 'Yes. She isn't sure if she should be with you. She isn't getting any younger and wants to have at least three children, as soon as possible.'

Between _???!!!_ and the realisation that Mycroft was joking, Sherlock surprised himself by a firm decision to think it over. Mycroft's amused expression told him that he figured out his thought process and was going to report it to Molly.

Mycroft came up to him and patted his head in the most patronising way. 'Do try to comprehend this: you're not the centre of the universe. Molly and I rarely discuss you. Most often, she updates me on her cat and her work and lately, she has been teaching me to knit. It's a brilliant exercise. I'm working on a scarf... for Toby.'

Sherlock put the cherries on the table and stood up to face Mycroft. 'In other words, you and Molly are...?'

Mycroft gave a shrug. 'Acquaintances.'

'No.'

'Allies.' Mycroft shifted, his heart started beating faster and he avoided Sherlock's eyes.

'Nope.'

'Confidants?' Mycroft offered, wincing. He knew where this was going.

'Say it. Say it, Mycroft, or I swear I'll tell Lady Smallwood that you love her.'

Mycroft couldn't stop an incriminating, deep flush spreading over his face and neck. 'This is blackmail. Heinous and ineffective. I do not love her. She would never believe you!'

'Come on, say it. Molly is your...'

Mycroft swayed, unsteady and prepared to faint to postpone his humiliation. But that wouldn't change anything, Sherlock wasn't going to let it go.

'She's my...' he grimaced, nearly gagging, that one special word was perfectly able of choking him. 'My... fr-' Mycroft paused to preserve his dignity for a moment longer. ' _Friend_ ,' he managed, at last, exhausted by the struggle and the acknowledgement of what he had been suspecting.

'That's right, you have a friend,' Sherlock gloated, pleased to see Mycroft defeated and vulnerable. 'A friend who likes you!' He accused, unable to stop. 'And whom you like!'

Mycroft collapsed onto the sofa and fanned himself with his hand. 'Enough of this torment. I can barely breathe.'

Having a leverage on Mycroft would work only if he didn't die, so Sherlock quickly brought him a glass of water and helped him unbutton the top buttons of his shirt. 

'This will be a brilliant topic of conversation for the next Christmas dinner,' Sherlock grinned. That would easily divert Mummy's attention from him and Molly. 

'You wouldn't.'

'Oh, I will.'

'I'll tell Molly.'

Sherlock didn't think of that. All of his plans to use Mycroft's pressure point to get what he wanted instantly went out of the window. No one could describe Molly as an unsupportive friend. She would protect Mycroft from Sherlock's curiously expressed affection. Damn. 

**Author's Note:**

> The only part of the ILY scene that matters to me is Mycroft's reactions. So much caring.


End file.
